Someone to Watch Over Me
by Ava Telcontar
Summary: In which the Winchester boys go to Arcadia and meet a girl named Joan. Crossover
1. The Job

The problem as near as Dean Winchester was concerned was that Sam was being a bigger bitch then usual. Okay, so Dean had gone and sold his soul so his little brother could live. But, was that really a good reason for perpetual bitch-face from the ungrateful brat? No! It wasn't fair and it wasn't just.

Also, he was certain that Sam was up to something. Sure, he'd explained that if they tried to weasel their way out of the deal Sam would keel over, however; Dean was sure that Sam wasn't going to leave it alone. He was completely fucking incapable of leaving things be.

Sam pushed aside his mostly finished overdone fishwinch aside and concentrated on his laptop screen.

"You gonna eat that?" Dean asked.

"Knock yourself out."

Dean happily pulled Sam's platter towards himself with an index finger. "Found anything?"

"Yeah. I found several articles about some town called Arcadia. Nice, picturesque little place with schools that were well below the natural average in under-aged violence, sex, and drug use. The key word being 'were.' In the last month or so the averages have gone way up."

"Well, crap." Dean's usual eloquence came out flatly. He hated when demons messed with kids.

"Hey, listen to this. Arcadia High had a hostage situation. Some kid with a gun, names Prentiss Miller, went nuts. It says here that he just passed out after taking a girl hostage."

Prentiss…Dean rolled his eyes. Giving a kid a name like that was a guarantee of the kid getting his ass kicked.

Sam paused. That was odd... "Huh." He had a weird look on his face.

"What?" Dean demanded.

Sam pursed his lips. "A student's blog." The blog was called 'Friedman's World' and the student who wrote it was kind of a freak.

"Well."

"Apparently, this kid was there when it happened. Only he says that when Miller grabbed the girl…" Sam trailed off.

"Sam, if you don't tell me what the hell it says I'm gonna take this bottle of ketchup and squirt all over that giant hamster you call a hairdo."

"Okay. Okay," Sam's hand automatically went up to his hair.

Dean snickered.

"It says that before the electricity went…the girl was glowing and the Miller kid vomited up darkness."

Dean blinked. "Say what now?"

"I'm not kidding. The blog's writer even speculates on demonic possession. Well, either that or Miller was taken over by aliens."

Dean grimaced at the alien mention. Aliens…what was wrong with people? "And what does it say about the girl?"

"It doesn't. The writer uses letters in place of names. But he called her 'J'." Sam said with a frown. He hit previous. "A 'J' is mentioned in a lot of past posts…"

"What's with the face?"

"I'm not making a face."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever. I'm gonna go take a leak." And with that he slunk off the Diner's bathroom.

"Someone was actually dumb enough to go to Arcadia? Talk about having a death wish."

Sam looked up. It was demon girl herself. She called herself Ruby. She was blond, beautiful and lethal. She claimed to be able to get his brother out of his deal. And that was the only reason he let her live.

Ruby who normally had an attitude of too cool for school was chewing at her lip pensively.

"So, Arcadia is bad for demons." Sam smiled sardonically. "Maybe, I'll retire there."

Ruby scowled. "Let's just say it's unhealthy. The rumor is that the other side has a heavy hitter posted there."

"The other side?" Sam raised an inquisitive brow. She couldn't mean…

Ruby snorted at his puzzled expression. "Well, look who's the doubting Tommy."

"So…" Sam glanced down at the blog then back up at Ruby. "I don't suppose you know who this 'J' girl is?"

Ruby went pale and then she pasted on a smile, "I'm not worried. You hunters have a tendency to jump to the wrong conclusions."


	2. The Girl

_One Month Ago…_

The problem was this. Senor year was coming to a close, graduation was almost here and Joan Girardi had no idea what she was going to do with her life. She wasn't even sure which college to go to. Everyone else seemed to have things well in hand. Joan's army was scattering to the four winds. Her younger brother Luke had a literal pile of schools all panting after his genius and after much soul searching (if soul searching was done with pi-charts and graphs and a slideshow) had chosen Oxford for some unknown reason. He was going to major in math of all things. Luke's on again off again girlfriend Grace Polk (who was also Joan's best friend) was going to Berkley to major in political science, big surprise there. Adam (who she was completely over) was going to some French art academy. Glynis was off to MIT. And even the ever annoying Friedman seemed to have it together; he was going to attend Harvard.

So is it any wonder that she was staring morosely into her pudding cup on this sunny September afternoon. It wasn't just that she felt left behind. Joan had become dependant on having backup…even if said backup didn't know they were backup.

"It can't be that bad," said a horribly familiar voice.

Joan looked up through her bangs at the smugly handsome features of Ryan Hunter; her very own personal nemesis. It didn't help that he was the only person on the planet who could actually understand her life. Like herself Ryan had the dubious distinction of having the Creator stop by and chat. Yes, that Creator, the Almighty Maker of Heaven and Earth, Alpha and Omega and all that jazz actually talked to them. And no they weren't crazy.

Having God talk to them had garnered two very different reactions. Joan had become God's go to gal. Notwithstanding the fact she was the most reluctant girl Friday on earth. Her job as near as she could figure it was to make…good ripples. Each good dead she did would ripple outward and make the world just that much better. Sometimes it didn't suck.

Ryan on the other hand had taken the opposite route. Just because you hear that voice did not guarantee you'd listen to what it had to say.

"Go away," Joan annunciated slowly just in case he was hard of hearing.

Ryan smiled winningly at her, "Joan, Joan why so glum? It isn't like you lost our last game."

Joan glared at him. "This isn't a game Ryan! You mess with people's lives."

Hunter shrugged. "Just exercising my free will. Admit it, you have fun. Going up against me and winning?"

"Do you want something or are you doing the creepy stalker guy thing because you're life is just chuck full of ennui?" Joan took a bit of her runny by now pudding.

"Ennui?"

Joan shrugged, "Word a month calendar."

"Friedman's Christmas present right?"

"You really are a stalker guy," Ryan was so lucky that Joan was too tired to rant.

Ryan blinked. No rant. How disappointing. He rather liked Joan's irate speeches. She gets all incoherent and flushed…

"I want you to ignore an upcoming assignment." Hunter said his voice for once not mocking.

Joan rolled her eyes. "You always want me to ignore my assignments," she scoffed.

And then Ryan did something completely unexpected. He reached out and grabbed her hand.

Joan gasped and tried to no avail to pull her hand out of his grasp. "What's your damage?"

"Look, I know being the good little saint is your thing but I'm telling you, leave it alone," Ryan tried to pull back the hint of desperation in his voice. "Listen something is coming and it's dangerous."

"Let go." Joan tried pulling free again. This led to her other hand being taken hostage. And gee didn't the bad guy have nice hands. Why did I have to notice this now? "I've done dangerous before."

"Not like this you haven't." Hunter all but growled.

"Look, you butt faced miscreant you don't have the right to tell me what to do…what kind of dangerous?" Joan said lowering her voice.

"The kind you shouldn't be anywhere near…and I'm just wasting by breath aren't I? You'll do whatever he tells you to do." Ryan scowled at something just past Joan's head.

Joan looked back. There leaning against a tree was the form of CuteBoyGod, who was looking at their joined hands with an amused pensive expression.

Joan looked at her hands that were enfolded in Ryan's then back to CuteBoyGod and to her great dismay blushed.

"Just be careful, okay?" He glared at his maker. "Remember what happens to all his chosen ones." With that her nemesis dropped her hands and stalked off towards his Porsche.

"Butt faced miscreant. Really?" God sat next to Joan and helped himself to her pudding.

Joan shrugged, "It just came out."

God looked pensive, "The last time I heard a girl call a guy that they ended up dating." The Almighty laughed at her horrified expression.

Joan sputtered inarticulately.

"But he is right. I see trouble on the rise." God said.

"Isn't that from a song?"

"Creedence Clearwater Revival. Bad Moon Rising."

"So what's the mission? Do I have to scale Mount Everest, learn to Rumba, learn the tuba, adopt a dolphin?" her voice was a little on the snippy side. "Oh. I know. Free France?"

The Great One shook his head. "You're gonna have to learn to breath."

"What? I already know how to breathe."

"You're doing it wrong."

Joan gaped at him. How could someone breathe wrong?

"Enlightenment, also breathing and the ability to kick ass; you're going to need all three." God said as he enjoyed the last of her pudding.

"Did you just say kick ass." Joan's voice was strained. This was going to turn out weird. Well, weirder than usual.

"Sometimes I say kick ass. Just ask King David." A pause. "I want you to go sign up for martial arts."

"What?!" But he was off. And there it was— the wave.

"It looks like I really am going to have to free France." Joan said to her empty pudding cup.

* * *

Rory Gilmore and Logan Huntzburger if you must know 


	3. In which Dean goes back to School

Dean was going to kill Sam. How the hell did the little weasel talk him into this? Sammy had to have used his freaky mind mojo on him. It was the only logical explanation. Dean Winchester as a substitute high school councilor was just messed up.

Currently, he was watching Vice Principal Gavin Price tearing into some kid who was late for class. He had hated high school the first time round and this experience wasn't really changing his opinion. It still sucked. Oh, yes Samantha's going to pay.

"And furthermore if you don't learn punctuality at this point in your life Mr. Rove you will end up one of those poor souls who _live_ in a van down by the river and you will remember me Mr. Rove and you will _dread_ your ten year high school reunion. Do you know why? This is why Mr. Rove. I will be there. And I will take great pleasure in saying 'I told you so'. Do you understand Mr. Rove?

The Rove kid blinked uncertainly at the vice principal. "'Cha." He rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a folded paper and held it towards Mr. Price.

"What's that?" Price sniffed suspiciously.

"It's a note from my doctor. I had an appointment this morning." Rove said in a small voice that sounded like it was emanating from the back of an oil drum.

Dean choked back a laugh at Price's stunned expression. The vice principal looked like he'd bit into a raw lemon.

"A note from your doctor?" Price said flatly. He scrutinized the note. "Is this about that virus…incident?" Dean was surprised that the man looked…concerned.

Rove smiled reassuringly, "'Cha. It was just a checkup."

"Everything check out?"

Rove nodded.

Price nodded shortly, "Then get to class."

Rove scurried off.

"Virus incident?" Dean pushed his glasses up onto his nose. The glasses were a prop that made him feel smarter. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

Price sighed heavily. "Rove and his friends managed to get themselves trapped in the hospital last month when the CDC locked it down. There was a small virus outbreak."

Dean blinked. "Ebola?"

Price rolled his eyes, "No. Bubonic."

Dean forced himself not to goggle. "That's bad." During the Middle Ages, a demon known as the Black Death had run amuck and killed about 75 million people with the bubonic plague. The idea of that bitch getting loose made his blood turn cold.

"Ya think?" Price said sarcastically. He would never forget watching the evening news and seeing Rove, Polk and of course Girardi in a staring role. In retrospect he wasn't really surprised. It was _always_ them. Although, the Bubonic Plague had lent a whole different aspect of horror to things.

Price jerked his head in the universal follow me motion.

Dean followed him into his office. It was bland and furnished minimally. The only interesting thing about the room was the Kermit the Frog coffee mug.

Price noted the sub's amused smirk at the mug. It had been a birthday gift from Joan Girardi of all people. After awhile you just stopped asking that girl why she did anything.

"So, Mr. Feeney do you have any experience with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?" Price sat down and raised a brow.

Did he ever! "Some. Is it about the hostage situation you had a week ago?" Dean shrugged. "I don't know how much I can be…I'm a sub."

Price waved an impatient hand. "Of that Mr. Feeney I'm well aware. However; the fact is that the regular councilor is a quack and while I'm sure that the students will hardly open up to a stranger, I think that a fresh perspective might be beneficial."

Price tapped a pile of folders. Thick folders. "I want you to pay special attention to these students."

Dean looked over the folders. Aaron Friedman (wasn't that freaky blog boy?), Glynis Figliola, Adam Rove, Grace Polk, Luke and Joan Girardi and Joan Girardi were the thickest. Wait. Joan. Could this be glowing 'J' from Friedman's blog?

Sam had read some of the Friedman's World aloud. The kid had problems. That notwithstanding he talked about 'J' a lot. Mostly she seemed to pull everyone around her into strange situations.

Price was watching him with an unreadable expression. "Good luck Mr. Feeney. You're going to need it."


	4. In Which Sam meets everyone's Grandma

Sam poked his head into Prentiss Miller's hospital room. The kid was hooked up to monitors and oxygen that hissed and beeped.

"Come in son. I'm not gonna bite." The speaker was an old lady with bright blue eyes.

"Is this Prentiss Miller's room," he asked hesitantly.

"It is." She gave him a level look that gave him the impression that he was being weighed and measured.

He stood up straight and tried to look like he was wearing a cleaner shirt. Sam began to grope for a reason for being here. He told the attendant at the desk that he was a relative. But, what if this was the grandmother? Also, he couldn't very well pass himself off as a police detective while wearing faded plaid.

"Is he alright?" Sam finally blurted. Is he alright? What the hell kind of question was that? The kid had vomited up a demon. Of course, he wasn't alright. It was just that for some reason he couldn't find it in him to lie to this women.

"No." She smiled wearily and stuffed her half finished afghan into a bag. "But, I suspect he will heal."

Sam blinked, "Are you his grandmother?"

She chuckled. "Sometimes it seems like I am everybody's grandma."

She unfolded herself from the chair and wondered over to Sam's side. She gazed with infinite sadness at the boy's prone figure. "All we can do is hope."

Sam smiled flickered doubtfully in the artificial light, "Does that really help?"

"Hope is all we really have. It may not seem like a lot; but, it's the one light that can keep back any darkness," replied the old women with solid conviction.


End file.
